


an undramatic love story

by YuzuGimlet



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuzuGimlet/pseuds/YuzuGimlet
Summary: Preston's been having trouble with play writing. Harrison suggests that maybe he just needs to get some real life experience before he writes anything. And so begins Preston's research for his newest work: How To Court A Stone Cold Bitch.Alternative title: I'm Messing With Max, Don't Worry, This is All a Joke at His Expense.Alternative alternative title: Fuck, Wait, This Was Supposed to be a Joke But Now I'm Kind of Falling In Love Too?





	1. Chapter 1

Preston Goodplay was consumed in a conflagration of rage. He had murderous intent oozing from every pore in his body. He was… He was…

He was really fucking pissed off.

“‘Morning, Preston,” Harrison said, glancing up from the bunny he'd been feeding. “Did you sleep well?”

“No! Of course not!” the actor snarled. He stabbed his mashed potatoes like they'd personally caused him his emotional strife. “Woe be me, Harrison! Misfortune falls upon the heads of those who try hardest. I haven’t been able to write a goddamn thing since—”

Preston stopped abruptly, paling as he remembered Nikki and Neil’s parents going at it like two wild animals behind the house at his reenactment of Little Red Riding hood. He pushed his food away, repulsed.

“Well, when I need inspiration for new magic tricks,” Harrison said, reaching behind Preston’s ear to pull out a coin, “I always try talking to others. You know, juggle ideas. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?”

“That’s the point, you amateur,” Preston said scathingly, swatting Harrison’s hand away. The quarter bounced to the ground and slipped between floorboards.

“Hey! You owe me twenty-five cents!”

Preston refused to pay attention to him. “I can’t write anything! It’s like there’s some kind of demonic sponge monster in my brain, leeching out all my ideas.” He slammed his forehead against the table. “Out, sponge! OUT!”

“Who gave the ADHD kid cocaine this early in the morning,” Max said, sneering as he passed their table with Nikki and Neil in tow.

Preston made an offended noise. “Do you have an intent on becoming the next Molière, Maxwell? Fuck off!"

“The next what?” Harrison asked.

Preston glared. “Do you know nothing, you Amish heathen? Molière! A great french playwright from the seventeenth century who died in the middle of performance from pulmonary tuberculosis! I just delivered an amazingly composed death threat.”

“How… How can I be Amish and a heathen at the same time?” Harrison asked.

Preston slammed his head against the table again. _Idiots, the lot of them._

* * *

 

He stared at the paper loaded into his typewriter. He loathed the whiteness of the page. No, he loathed the lack of writing on it. It’d been over fourteen hours and he had nothing to show for his efforts. Nothing! Even though he'd been sitting with this typewriter since breakfast.

“Preston, it’s bed time!” David sang, poking his head into the theater’s backstage area. “Everyone needs plenty of rest if they want to be at their very best tomorrow!”

“What’s the point of _living_  for tomorrow if I can’t even write a single play?” Preston wailed, pushing his typewriter away to faint dramatically. “What happened to my magic touch, David? What have I done to the universe to deserve this?”

David's wide smile didn't falter. “Maybe you’ll be able to think better if you get some sleep, champ! Play writing can’t be that hard if you just get some Z’s, right?”

Preston raised his head and stared at the counselor.

* * *

 

“Where’s David?” Max demanded as he swept his eyes over the camp’s main grounds. “I need to get my nightly stab at him before I sleep.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “For someone who claims to hate him, you’re strangely obsessed.”

“Am not! Shut the fuck up, Neil, you don't know anything.”

Nikki thrust a handful of worms out. “Hey! How much dessert will you give me if I eat all of these in one mouthful?!”

Neil shrieked at the squirming insects, sprinting back to his tent. Nikki chased after him, cackling. Max was about to follow them so he could laugh at Neil when Nikki inevitably shoved the worms down his underwear when he heard a loud slam from the theater.

He hopped up the stairs and poked his head behind the red curtain. David was pressed against a wall, arms held out as a shield against Preston’s swinging fists.

“You’re such a fucking idiot!” Preston bellowed, eye twitched as stick-like arms drizzled a light hell onto the counselor. “Sleep? You really think sleep is going to solve all my problems? All sleep is going to do is end up making me lose my drive, you MONSTER! And then when I spiral into an apathetic depression and end up homeless on the streets snorting ceramic paint fumes just to feel a fraction of what I used to, _you_ will be accountable David! YOU!”

“Preston, calm down!” David said, looking more concerned than hurt.

“Ha!” Max said, pointing a finger at the counselor. “You’re getting beat up by a goddamn theater nerd? You’re such a loser, David."

Preston turned around with a downright homicidal expression. “ _You!_ You ruined my Romeo and Juliet II with your dweebish attitude and terrible acting. You have no right to be laughing at all!”

Max’s stopped laughing, annoyed. He’d shut Preston up quick so he could laugh at David some more and get back to Mr. Honeynuts.“Calm the fuck down, Preston. The problem wasn’t my acting even though I’m sure you’d love to blame it on that. The problem was your terrible script.”

“You take that back, you abominable arch-heretic!” the playwright bellowed.

“No,” he said flatly, taking a step forward to jab the taller boy in his chest. “You need a fucking reality check. Your play was stupid, badly written, made no sense—”

“It was supposed to represent _abstract ideals_.”

“—your dialogue was flat, your character development was nonexistent, and it was just _boring_ ,” he finished, nose wrinkled. “Don’t go blaming everyone because you can’t think of any more bullshit to put on paper. If you want some good ideas, then do what all the other play writers do and smoke a bunch of pot before brainstorming.”

“Max, I think that was an incredibly rude thing to say!” David interjected.

“Shut the FUCK UP, David!” both of the campers yelled.

Preston was red in the face, biting his lip so hard that he almost broke skin. He inhaled deeply, and then reached into the box beside him, taking out a script.

“If you think you can do so much better,” Preston said, voice quivering from suppressed anger, “then edit my script and see what you can do with it. Maybe you’ll think twice before judging me next time.”

He dropped the bundle of papers in front of Max, who looked at it with disinterest. Preston left the stage, two middle fingers raised.

“Good fucking night to both of you. I hope bed bugs make fucking nests in your livers and eat you from the inside out!”

David sighed, running a hand through his hair. That could have gone better.

“You’re such a fucking loser, David!” Max said, dropping to the ground as he laughed loudly once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Preston melted into his seat at breakfast the next morning, thoroughly exhausted. He’d been so upset, all he could do was think about how much he wanted his Gram Gram to pick him up from this hellhole.

“Not a good night, I take it?” Harrison asked, slipping into his usual seat beside him.

“Being plunged into Dante’s Inferno would have caused me less strife,” he said, arm thrown over his eyes dramatically. “I’m filled with sorrow!”

Harrison bit a carrot and then dropped the rest into his hat. “Wow, that sounds sucky.”

“You’ve got no fucking idea,” Preston growled, sitting up straight to slam his fists on the table. “I spent all day yesterday in front of that curséd typewriter hoping the gods would grace me with a satchel of creativity! But the gods were cruel and heartless, Harrison. I got nothing done. I’m a charlatan!”

“Oh, Preston, I’m sure you’re not!” Harrison reached for the hard bread roll on Preston’s tray and slipped a handkerchief over it. He pulled it back to reveal some advil. “Here you go.”

And then, that fuckwad Maxwell told me my play was trash. Who does he think he is? He wouldn’t know good writing if it fucked him with Shakespeare’s rotting corpse penis.”

“Wow, that’s really gross imagery,” Harrison said, cringing. 

Preston made a noncommittal noise.

“What kind of genre do you want for your play, Preston?” Harrison asked.

“Something with romance! Tragedy! Excitement! Maybe a sword fight? Dragons.” Preston spread his arms, gesturing wildly. His long arms smacked a passing Nerris, making a pointed ear go flying into Nurf’s potatoes. “Betrayal, maybe an orgy of death!”

“Okay, let’s… back up,” Harrison said, trying not to laugh as Nerris brandished her sword to keep an angry Nurf away. “Do you even have any experience with all of that stuff?”

“Oh, you poor, poor Amish boy. Of course I do! I’ve read thousands and thousands of plays dating back to even before breathing was relevant.” Preston flipped his hair.

The magician started shuffling his cards. “I meant more like, have you ever experienced those things personally? Have you had a romance? Have you lived through a tragedy? Maybe you’re feeling stunted because you don’t have anything to refer to besides what other people have written.”

Preston blinked, and then leaned back in his seat. “Well, well, well. The Amish fool brings up a good point.”

“I really don’t get why you keep saying I’m amish—”

“If I need to force myself into a torrid romance, then by God’s name I will!” Preston rested a hand over his heart. “I’ll make Troilus and Cressida look like a goddamn Twilight fanfiction! But who should be the lucky lady?”

“If you start hanging out with Nerris, I’m going to make myself disappear,” Harrison said sharply. “Anyone else can be fair game.”

Preston ran the girls in the camp through his head. It was a tragically short list. Ered probably wouldn’t show much of a reaction if someone held a gun to her head. She’d be a terrible reference. Nikki had the attention span of a squirrel and probably didn’t know what romance was.

“The X chromosomes in this camp are incredibly disappointing,” Preston said with a gusty sigh. “Perhaps I should look into making this gay. Like Bare: a Pop Opera! It’ll appeal with the lusty young women demographic, that’s for sure.”

Harrison leaned away, gloved hands raised. “I know I’m your close friend, Preston, but I’m not interested in you in that manner.”

“Not you,” Preston said almost meanly. Dolph set his tray down across from Preston. “You may be a showman, but you aren’t an actor. I need someone who has no idea of this plan. I need someone who gives explosive reactions, someone who’s going to show the perfect level of inner conflict at the proposal of a homosexual bond with me!”

Dolph grabbed his tray and went to go sit next to Space Kid.

Harrison took a rabbit out of his hat. “So who’s that?”

Preston buried his face in his hands. “Lord if I—”

A packet of paper flew threw the air and smacked him in the side of his head. He yelped as he tipped off the bench and hit the floor.

“Fuck you, you piece of dyslexic, ADHD shit!” Max raged as he stormed to stand over Preston. His eyes were bloodshot and the circles under his eyes were dark.“I spent all night editing your shitty play! Do you have any idea what grammar is? Spelling? You’re such a fucking idiot, Preston. It’s like you’ve got one brain cell and it’s fighting with all the dead ones to be in the spotlight. You’re such a goddamn tool! Fuck you!” Spittle flew from Max’s mouth as he yelled.

Neil handed him a mug of coffee, black and hot. Max took a small sip, finishing his long insult. “Thank fuck, I’ve been wanting to say that all night.” The two of them walked away to join Nikki, who they’d given both of their breakfasts to.

Preston flipped through the script. The packet was almost covered in red ink, with notes on how he could have explained scenarios better, how he could have shown rather than told, and indeed all the spelling and grammatical errors had been fixed.

Preston flipped the last page and pressed his gutted script to his chest, face still.

Harrison whistled. “That was quite a reaction, don’t you think?”

“You must be thinking what I’m thinking,” Preston said, staggering to his feet. His mind was racing, making it near impossible to make coherency out of all the thoughts whirling around. “He’s perfect.”

* * *

 

Preston titled his newest piece on his typewriter.

How To Court a Stone Cold Bitch.

* * *

 

“Maxwell!” Preston said, rushing to the boy during Ered’s skateboarding camp.

The shorter boy pushed his too-big helmet back to glare. “The fuck do you want?”

“Your edits were some hot shit,” Preston said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He folded his arms. “I was wondering if you’d like to edit my future works? Maybe we could even discuss the logistics over a cup of coffee or something.”

Preston leaned ever so slightly forward. Max took a step back, face wrinkled like the very idea made him want to vomit.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not putting myself through that kind of torture again,” he snapped. “Your writing is such shit, I’d rather scoop out my eyeballs and dump them in a nest of quartersister infected fire ants.”

Preston coughed. “Okay, it wasn’t _that_ bad—”

“Yes, it was that bad!” Max said coldly. “There’s nothing I regret more than editing that shit and not destroying it. What I should have done was put it through a paper shredder and force Space Kid to eat it. And then shove him in the lake after it was lodged in his intestine so the fishes could eat _him._ ”

Preston’s eye twitched. “Hoo boy, you are REALLY testing my patience here.”

“So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone then?” Max sneered at him, and then skated down the ramp.

Preston breathed in deeply. This was far from over.

* * *

 

Preston gathered the pile of loose construction paper in his arms. This would definitely spark some romance. He’d seen it in almost every movie his grandmother had in her house. Max’s voice drifted from neaby.

“And _then_ I told David to fuck himself with a—”

Preston flung himself around the corner.

“FUCK!”

He crashed into Max. _Fuck yeah!_ Preston let out a dramatic scream, toppling over and throwing his armful of paper into the air. They fluttered everywhere, some cascading over his collapsed form on the ground. Nikki burst into peals of laughter, and Neil rolled his eyes.

“What was this dipshit doing?” Max said angrily, stepping over Preston.

Preston wanted to scream in frustration. He grabbed Max by his hand. “Wait! Aren’t you going to help me up?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Max asked, looking legitimately confused. “You were the one who bumped into me, you idiot.”

Preston flushed. “The least you could do is help me gather my things.”

Neil sighed, rubbing his temples. “We’re a little too busy to deal with you right now, Preston. I’m sure you can pick up a few papers by yourself. Let’s go, Max.”

He jerked his hand away and followed his friends away. “What a basket case.”

 Nikki was still chuckling. "Preston's so funny. He should have signed up for clown camp with Scotty!"

Preston sat there in a pile of brightly colored paper and bit his lip. His eyes narrowed. If he wanted to get close to the target, he’d have to get rid of his two guard dogs first.

* * *

 

“Boss?” Dirty Kevin asked, poking his head into the treasure room.

Sasha glanced up from Flowers Monthly, legs crossed and looking pretty on her throne of money wads and cookie boxes. “What? If it’s those guh- _ross_ Russian mob members trying to get in on all of my customers again, I swear to _God_ I’m gonna be tossing some hands.”

Dirty Kevin winced. “Uh, no, no, Miss Tabii dealt with them yesterday. We have someone here asking for a favor? He says he’s from Camp Campbell.”

Sasha tilted her head back and groaned for a solid minute. “This fucking shit again? Bring him in so I can hear what he wants."

Dirty Kevin bowed as he left the room. Preston walked in, dusting off his ruff.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” Sasha asked, narrowing her eyes. “I hope you used our hand sanitizer before you walked in here.”

“Well, duh,” Preston said exasperatedly. “What am I, a monkey? You think I'd let germs anywhere near my immaculate cuticles?”

“Look, loser, what do you want?” Sasha asked.

Preston glanced around the room to make sure no one else was listening. “So you’re acquaintances with Nikki and Neil, correct?”   


“ _Ewwww_ , don’t say their names in front of me! High blood pressure makes aging faster,” she said. “What do you want to do with them?”

“Nothing,” Preston hissed. “I want you to take them away for a few days.”

Sasha scoffed. “I hope you didn’t, like, walk in here thinking I’ll do anything for free. What can you do to pay me back? Just saying, you’re gonna need like a hella lot of cash. We have a ton of it already, and a bunch of organic Mexican cane sugar.”

“I know a guy who can get you,” Preston said, pausing for dramatic effect, " _two_ bottles of Jean Patou Joy Baccarat Pure Parfum."

“Oh my _Gawd_! Are you for real? Shut up.”

"Can't."

"Shut _up_!"

"Wish I could."

"Oh My GAWD!" Sasha hopped off her throne and looked up at Preston, condescension overshadowed by greed. “That thing is super limited edition. Totes would love that. If you can get me two whole bottles, you have a deal, scarecrow boy.”

“Ha! Great!” Preston rubbed his hands together. "No one beats Flower Scout Bitches for dirty work."

"Damn right, honey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi psa im preston trash. also y'all can contact me on tumblr @haikyuuandcitrus. same thing for insta if you want to dm me idk.


	3. Development

“David, the fuck are Nikki and Neil?” Max asked the next morning as Gwen herded the rest of the campers out of the Mess Hall. “I’ve been looking for them the entire morning and they’re nowhere. I think the Quartermaster kidnapped and ate them.”

David chuckled and leaned down to pat Max’s head, only to get his fingers bitten. “Ow! Don’t worry, Max, they’re fine! The Flower Scouts just asked if they could borrow the two of them for a short while to help with cookie boxing! And because it’s in the interest of Camp Campbell to always help a neighbor in need, who were we to say no?”

Max spluttered, face quickly turning a shade of beef tomatoes. “Are you fucking insane? You sent them to the FLOWER SCOUTS? They’re going to destroy them alive! They hate Nikki and Neil! David, you fuck up, we have to go rescue them!”

“Now, now, Max! Before we go and do that, we have to do—” David struck a jazz-hands pose, “Friday morning yoga!”

“I’d rather kill myself,” Max said sharply.

“Max! Not a good attitude! Maybe some stretching and meditation will help, eh? Grab a partner!”

“The only two people I can actually stand are probably drowning in pink and frills, who in the hell can I do your stupid fucking yoga with?”

Preston figured this was the time to make his grand entrance. Sticking his hand into his pocket and throwing up a handful of rose petals and glitter, he struck a pose of seduction and glanced at Max from the side of his eye.

“Maxwell,” he said, lips puckered and eyelids low. “I heard you’re looking for a yoga partner?”

Max stared at him, obviously enthralled by his good looks and charm, and immediately turned to David to say, “I think I’m about to vomit.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Max, you’ll hurt Preston’s feelings—”

And then Max leaned over to hurl all over David’s shoes. Preston’s pose went slack and he stared as the boy he was trying to flirt with vomited on the counselor like he’d just had an entire package of gas station sushi.

David gasped and ran to grab some napkins and water for Max, ignoring the fact that his shoes were making disgusting squelching noises as he did so. Maxwell slowly turned around and glared at Preston, bile shining on his chin.

“Look, gaywad,” Max said hotly. “I don’t know why you’ve been acting so fucking weird around me the last few days but it’s getting on my fucking nerves. Leave me alone.”

Preston didn’t know why that made his heart squeeze. “I’m trying to be nice. Why do you hate me so much?”

“Nice? Ha! Don’t make me fucking laugh,” Max snapped. “You’re not a nice person. I can say that because I’m the lowest of the goddamn low. You don’t give a shit about other people. Even when we were all dying from who-knows-what illness, the only thing you could think about was saving the day so you could be in the spotlight. That’s all you fucking care about, you, you, you! So if you’re paying me this much attention, I know for a fact that it has to be about something selfish, and I refuse to play any part of the Preston Goodplay show. I don’t like being used, bitch.”

Preston felt himself flush at the accusation, at the accuracy of the accusation to be exact. He forced himself to stammer, “Who said I’m _using_ you?” 

Max used his sleeve to wipe the throw up on his chin angrily. “You’re not that good of an actor, you fucking retard. I know you had something to do with Nikki and Neil being gone and that was a dick move. Leave me alone.”

David hurried in then, grabbing Max and rubbing his face with a wet towel, then picking the boy up and running to the infirmary. And Preston was left, alone, in the Mess Hall feeling like he’s just been admonished to the very core of his being.

It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

* * *

 

“Preston, are you doing okay?” Harrison asked, peeking into the backstage of the theater to find his friend hugging his knees and staring at the type writer dejectedly.

“No,” he said quietly in a flat tone. “In full honesty, I feel kind of like shit, Harrison.”

The magician sat down on a crate of sword props. “Well, tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can make all your problems _disappear_.” He wiggled his fingers. Preston didn’t even roll his eyes at the terrible pun.

“Maxwell seems to loathe me,” Preston said. “And it’s making me feel… bad.”

“Bad? Not burning in the flames of hell? Not wanting to make you sheathe a sword within your own liver? Just… bad?” Harrison might have been teasing him, but Preston couldn’t bring himself to care. “Yikes. He must have really gotten to you, Preston.”

“Whatever. It just makes me so pissed off thinking about it… You’d have thought I murdered his family to force him into a marriage with me!” the young actor snapped.

His friend pursed his lips. “I mean, you did try to make him fall in love with you so you could write about the experience in one of your plays.”

“Well!” Preston paused. He shrunk. “Maybe I am awful.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, man. It’s fine, just leave him alone and try to shift your focus on someone a little less volatile,” Harrison said, leaning over to ruffle the thespian’s hair.

“But I don’t want to,” Preston said softly, voice just barely above a whisper.

Harrison’s hand froze. “Uh… what?”

“I don’t… I don’t want to,” Preston repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I’m so fixated on Maxwell in particular but I am. I want him to like me back.”

“Dude, did you get a crush on him?”

Preston’s chest seized. “No! Of course not!” He shook his head furiously. “There’s no way in hell that would happen. It’s just—fuck, it’s so confusing trying to say it. He’s always so furious and stingy, and he has absolutely no subtlety at all. He doesn’t care. He didn’t work hard for the play, he wasn’t afraid to tell me what he thought about my script, and he’s always ready to jeer at everyone equally. He’s an asshole.”

Harrison stayed quiet, feeling as though that wasn’t the end of Preston’s monologue.

“I liked watching him from afar,” Preston said finally after almost five minutes of tense silence. “I liked planning small ways I could get him to react to me. He’s far from being genuine, Harrison. You notice small things about him if you keep watching, like the way he shrinks into his hoodie whenever Nikki gets too loud, or how he always tries to avoid physical contact in any way, or how he slowly, slowly starts to relax when he’s in a conversation with someone much slower than any normal human would. And I think halfway through this whole endeavor, I kind of realized that he was an actor just like me. And I was so curious as to what was behind that.

“Maybe I’m reading too far into it, but I want to genuinely get to know Max. Everything he wrote on my script was real. It was pretty stodgy and poorly written, I agree. I want to know what makes someone like him tick.”

Preston buried his face into his knees. Harrison let out a slow whistle. “Preston?”   


“What?”  


I’m saying this as your friend, okay? I think you’ve got it really bad for Max.”  


Preston sighed. “I think that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've been gone for so long and that this chapter is so rushed, it's been a while. Lots of things have happened. My depression has kicked my ass to hell and back, but I'm here finally. I'm going to try and write a bit more. It's an interest of mine that I've neglected for too long. If anyone wants to talk to me, hit me up on my studygram @yuzu.studies or my tumblr @yuzustudies


	4. Root Beer is the New Mistake Juice

Preston fidgeted in his seat in the Mess Hall. Had it only been just a few days ago that he’d sat in this exact seat, stressing out about his script? The world suddenly looked like it had much bigger problems.

“Preshton!” Nerris shouted, sheathing her cardboard sword and seating herself across from the thespian. “So are you going to play Dungeon Master for our Dungeons and Dragons night? You always come up with the most convoluted quests and those are the most fun!”

Preston looked away glumly. “Woe be me, Nerris. Don’t pester me now, please. The fates are already cackling at my ill will, I can’t drag myself to do what you request me to AND resist the urge to sob my aching heart out in liquid form.”

“Oh, Jeshush,” Nerris muttered under her breath. She threw her bag of dice on the table and settled into a comfortable position, feeling like she’d be there for a while. “Come on, Preshton. Tell Aunty Nerry all of your problems.”

He narrowed her eyes at her. “Don’t mock me, you nymphen temptress, I’m not one of your character models to be toyed with.”  
“Nymphen temptress? That’s new,” she snorted. “Look, do you want my opinion and help or not?”

Preston pressed his lips together for a moment before relenting. “Okay, fine. I guess I might have POSSIBLY been a bit inconsiderate about Max and my use of him as… inspiration. And now he’s mad at me.”

Nerris didn’t say anything to that. Preston arched an eyebrow. “Well? Your opinion?”  


“Oh, you finished your story!” Nerris’s face scrunched into a thoughtful expression. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this to be the reason why you were so mopey. I thought Campbell got out of prison with another batch of eggs for us or something! Why do you care if Max is mad at you?”  


Preston felt the blood shoot past his ruff and neck to his cheeks. He buried his face in his crossed arms on the table and refused to look up again. Nerris was still trying to put the pieces together.

“I mean, a lot of people have been mad at you before. I’ve been angry at you before, and so has Dolf, and Nurf went through that whole thing where he beat the shit out of you all the time when you looked at the egg wrong,” she said passively. “So why do you care if _Max_ of all people is pissed? It’s not like you’ve got a crush on him or—”

Preston wanted to shake his clenched fists at whatever god in heaven was laughing at his misery as Nerris froze. There was a minute of silence, in which she probably started smiling like a lunatic.

“OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM!” she squealed. “GAH, PRESTON! THAT’S SO CUTE!”

He grabbed her by the front of her yellow shirt with one hand and used the other to slap over her wired mouth.

“Could you be any louder, you nuisance?!” Preston demanded, voice hushed. 

She pushed him away, laughing. “Calm down, Preston, it’s not like he can hear me with Space Kid talking his ear off right behind us. Tell me more about this crush!”

Preston bit his lip in frustration, tired of people making it sound like he’d committed a felony for swooning for someone. “So I might possibly have picked up a childish infatuation with Maxwell! I mean, just think about him, he’s adorable! So fluffy, and small—like a cat. Just as vicious too, might I add.”

He could see all of Nerris’s multicolored braces as she parted her lips into a borderline feral grin. “That’s sooooooo gay, Preshton. God, Max of all people! Of everyone in the camp, you chose the one who probably pishes orphan tears.”

“Pisses orphan tears—Nerris! Could you please lend me a shoulder to grieve on? I just want myself to accept that Max isn’t a good muse and be able to write again,” Preston said.

Nerris had to take her elf ears off and get some air onto her red ears as she broke into another peal of laughter. “Your problems are too funny, Preston. Why don’t you purshue the crush, you dummy? Ask him out! Walk right up to him, even, and press a big ol’ kish on his pretty lips!”

“Ah, yes, who can deny the love advice of a girl who’s more likely to marry her cosplaying cats than find a suitable human being?” Preston shot back. He reeled himself in, eyes shut and breathing in deeply. “I’m sorry, that was uncouth. I swear, if this whole  ‘feelings’ thing ruins my reputation as a gentlemanly actor, I’ll sue someone.”  


“Who, cupid?”  


“If he can afford my trauma fees, I don’t see why not!”

“You know what you need, Preston? A good, solid bottle of root beer!” She reached into her cloak and whipped out a bottle. “This was supposed to be your incentive to be Dungeon Master, but I guess this is as good of a use as any.”

Preston looked at the bubbles. At the delicious, sugary bubbles.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“You know you want to,” Nerris sang. “Look at how the bottle even calls your name!”

She shook it slightly, causing the fizzing to increase. She struck a high falsetto. “Oh, Preston, please drink me! Please! All I want to do is make you happy!”

“You’re a fickle witch,” Preston said finally, taking the bottle and cracking the top open slowly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nerris snorted. “But first of all, I’m a warlock. The heck is a witch?”

* * *

 

“Preston? Buddy? You awake?”

The pain was indescribable. It felt like dumbbells with needles sticking out of them were over his eyelids. The pounding in his temples and the weakness of his limbs meant only one thing and one thing only could have happened. He’d overdid it on the root beer.

“Damn,” he rasped. His voice was just barely a whisper. “And I thought I’d be able to handle it better this time.”

He forced his eyes to crack open and saw a blurred image of what was undoubtedly the ceiling of his tent and a concerned magician friend peering over him.

“Oh, Preston,” Harrison said disappointedly. “I expected you to be better than this! You know resorting to root beer is never the answer!”

Preston moaned noncommittally in response.

“Well… what you did after your sugar high is punishment enough,” Harrison said finally, and sat down to shuffle his cards expertly. Preston had to close his eyes again—the sight of the cards moving so quickly nauseated him.

“What I did… after the high?"

  
“Oh, God, do you not remember what you did?” Harrison bit his lip like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “It’s not a pretty story to tell, but I’ll try my best.”

* * *

 

_Preston tossed the empty A &W bottle after draining it. And along with the bottle went his pants._

_“Gott im Himmel,” Dolf said flatly, throwing his tray away and making a beeline for the Mess Hall’s doors. Ered and Nurf looked up from comparing their combat boots. Max looked up from stabbing his plate piled high with mashed potatoes (Space Kid was still running around trying to wipe the potatoes Max had flung at him off of his helmet)._

_“Excuse me!” Preston yelled, unable to stand straight. “I have an announcement to make!”_

_Harrison chose this moment to walk into the Mess Hall. Upon seeing his best friend standing in his tighty-wighties on the breakfast table, he immediately walked out of the Mess Hall._

_“Maxwell!” he continued. “Maxwell, I’ve got a fucking bone to pick with you!”_

_“I’m out,” Max said, dropping his fork and pulling his hood over his head. He jumped off of his bench and followed in Dolf’s footsteps for the door._

_“MAXWELL! LOVE ME BACK, DAMN YOU!” Preston yelled, dropping onto his knees on the table and folding his hands over his heart._

_Max ground his teeth so hard, they just about cracked._

_“Miss me with that gay shit, you fucking idiot,” he snapped over his shoulder and continued to walk away._

_“Maxwell, why won’t you accept my love confession?!” Preston asked, feeling embarrassing tears well in his eyes. “Let me prove myself to you! Let me prove my worth, my affections! You’re everything to me!”_

_The boy in the blue hoodie pulled the door to the Mess Hall open and glanced behind him with a disdainful—no, disgusted—look. “Fucking faggot,” he said angrily to the sudden hush that befell the entire area._

_The door slammed shut. Preston burst into tears, prompting Ered and Nurf to leave the uncomfortable scene as soon as possible. Nerris winced, and helped Preston back to his feet and down the table._

_“That was a bit more dramatic than I thought it’d be,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Preston.”_

_“Why doesn’t he like me back?!” Preston blubbered._

_“I don’t know, dude, don’t listen to him, you’re a catch. Let’s get you to your cabin and ask Harrison to keep over you while you sleep this off_.”

* * *

“You’re fucking joking,” Preston said, face straight.

“Nope. Ered can confirm.”

Preston inhaled, and despite the way his entire body protested it, screamed, “FUCK!” as loud as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rushed chapter continues to be rushed! leave a comment, sorry this story is so shitty

**Author's Note:**

> hi, yes, hello, I am absolute Preston trash and it's 6:48 am and i've been writing since like 5 am this is a cry for help


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